“Aban?” Ill feelings had caused my father to disown me and my uncle to slice his knife across my face. If Aban felt the same way, why had he come all the way from Valencia to the Duchy of Athens? Hoping to move past whatever anger or contempt he held, I used a greeting I hadn’t said in a long time, in a language I’d not spoken in years. “Peace be upon you.”
His eyes focused on my shoulder rather than my face. “And upon you.”
“I’m glad you found me.” I kept my words Arabic, for the moment.
He grunted.
“Would you like to come in out of the sun? I’d offer you a bath, but it’s the women’s hours now. Are you hungry?”
He pushed himself from the wall and stalked toward the bathhouse. “Sebastie said you normally eat after the bathhouse closes. I can wait.”
I let him pass, then followed him inside and shifted to Castilian. “You’ve met Sebastie. This is Gillen, and this is Eudocia. They’re the other owners of the bathhouse.”
“A woman is one of the owners?” I couldn’t tell if Aban’s question held more surprise or contempt.
Gil’s smile faltered, but Eudocia placed her hand on his arm, and he didn’t say anything. She seemed willing to let it go, if it had been a slight.
“Yes, she’s one of the owners,” I said. Gil and I had planned it out and arranged everything when our injuries—his eyes and my leg—had made a future as mercenaries uncertain. We’d had enough, barely, after we’d been paid for our work in turning Thebes. Eudocia’s investment had given us flexibility and the option to sleep in homes instead of in the courtyard or storerooms.
“It’s different than the one Father ran.” Aban brushed a hand along the wall’s glazed tiles.
I held my tongue rather than point out that the main difference was that our father had only run the bathhouse. Gil, Eudocia, and I owned this one. I glanced at my co-owners and changed the subject. “Did you see where the Venetians went?”
“They stayed in the Cadmea, at a home owned by another Venetian.” Gil watched Aban examine everything. “Eudocia and I can close up the bathhouse, give you and your brother time to catch up.”
I needed to hear Aban’s story, especially the reasons he bristled with barely disguised hostility. “Sebastie, do you want to join us?” Maybe having Sebastie there would make time with Aban a little less awkward.
“I think after the women are gone, I will ask Gillen to keep the bathhouse open for me. I’ll join you later. In the meantime, I wish to see how much my nephew has forgotten since we last sparred.”
Sparring with swords in the courtyard sounded much easier than finding out why my brother had traveled a few thousand miles to see me and now seemed unhappy about it, but duty to my brother pushed me toward the door. “Aban?”
He nodded and followed me out into the streets of Thebes.
“When did you arrive in town?” I asked.
“Today.”
“Did you come by land or by sea?”
“Sea, mostly. From Barcelona to Corinth.”
“Did you like sailing?”
“No.”
We walked along tall stone walls that divided individual courtyards from the street. If Aban kept answering each question with the fewest possible words, it was going to be a long evening. Gil had probably thought he was doing me a favor by giving me time with Aban, but it seemed Aban wasn’t much interested in a brotherly reunion.
“Sebastie said our parents are dead. When did they die?”
“Mother died three years ago.”
“Did she ever mention me?”
“Not even on her deathbed.”
Another stab of pain. The day had brought too many. “And Father, when did he die?” I didn’t ask if he’d spoken my name, because I was certain I knew the answer.
“A year ago. He mentioned you often enough, to curse your selfishness and the shame you brought to the family.”
It seemed I had assumed wrong. I waited for Aban to say more, but he lapsed into silence. “Why did you come if you think I am shameful and selfish?”
Aban’s face tensed. “I . . . I thought perhaps . . . well, I didn’t have a lot of choices when I left. I had fond memories of you and thought the rumors might be exaggerated. But then I saw you, dressed like a Christian. It’s as if you’ve forgotten who you are entirely. Father was right. You aren’t part of our family anymore.”
I glanced at my pourpoint and hosa, normal clothing for those from the west who lived in Thebes. “I wear Christian clothing because I am a Christian. Didn’t Father and Uncle Tahir tell you that?”
Aban nodded. “I hoped it wasn’t true. Or that you’d only pretended, fooled the Navarrese Company and started rumors.”
“It was no ruse. And while we may worship God differently and dress differently, we are still brothers. I am pleased to see you.”
Aban’s face didn’t soften. “I’m only here because I had nowhere else to go. Father was honored in our community, but after you left . . . all his children were suspect. I knew more about running a bathhouse than the new man the administrator picked, but your sins stained my name.”
“So no one would give you work?”
Anger made his shoulders shake. “Father’s replacement kept me on as an attendant. Gave me all the worst tasks. Reminded me daily that I would never rise higher. One night, he claimed I hadn’t started the fires correctly—but that hadn’t been my task that morning. I protested, and he pushed me.” Aban’s jaw hardened. “I struck him back. I didn’t intend to hurt him so badly, but he tripped on a bucket, and when he fell, he knocked his head against the tile. He didn’t move again.”
“Did you kill him?”
“I ran away and never found out for certain. Rumors reached me, saying he’d been killed, but they might have been wrong.”
“And Uncle Tahir didn’t come after you?” If he’d thought to kill me for dishonoring a woman and apostatizing, surely he’d want some type of punishment for manslaughter.
Aban glanced at me, then at the cobblestones. “I wasn’t as stupid as you. I stopped using my real name until I arrived in Greece and found the Navarrese Company.”
I’d left with a group who knew me from the bathhouse, so using an alias hadn’t been an option, but I didn’t correct him. “How did you know I was with the Navarrese?”
“Ufayr ibn Nizar’s second wife told Mother. She seemed to think Mother would want to know, but Mother ignored her.”
Solace that Zubiya had cared enough to keep track of me softened the edge of disdain coming from my brother. “Was she happy, Ufayr’s second wife?”
Aban grunted. “I don’t know how things went with her husband, but she got along with the other wife when they came to the bathhouse, and she doted on her son.”
Those words gave comfort. Zubiya hadn’t been given a choice when it had come to her husband, but she had found joy in a child. “What are your plans now that you’ve found me? If you need work, I can find a place for you at the bathhouse.” We hadn’t planned on hiring someone new, but we could find something for him. Gil and Eudocia would go along with it as long as Aban got over some of his surliness.
“I don’t know. I heard the Navarrese Company made a name for themselves in the Duchy, but I’m not sure I wish to live surrounded by so many infidels.”
Valencia contained more Christians than Muslims, and the Christians ruled there like they ruled in Greece, but a robust Muslim community had been part of our childhood. “You don’t have to decide today.” I pointed to the home where I rented a set of rooms. “Come. This is where I live.”
Maria was the first who noticed us when we entered the courtyard. I’d begun renting rooms from her family when she’d been a spindly girl of about ten. Since then, she’d grown into an attractive maiden with large, dark eyes, olive skin, and a wide smile. Her father had said he wouldn’t prevent my courting her, but I couldn’t picture being married to a woman like Maria. Her exuberance and cheerfulness were pleasant but also exhausting. If I married her, her chatter would never cease, not even when the workday was done and I’d had my supper and longed for a little bit of quiet. And until today, I’d always held out hope that somehow I’d have another chance with Zubiya. A fool’s dream but a persistent one.
“Welcome back, Rasheed. You’re earlier than normal. Are you hungry? Mama is making a stew, but I can get you some bread and cheese now, if you like.” Maria’s eyes landed on Aban, and she was silent for a long moment. Her smile grew even larger. “Who’s this?”
The way she looked at Aban was promising. Nothing I’d said to my brother had done any good. Maybe a pretty face could soften some of his hardness toward Christians, if not toward me.
“This is my brother, Aban.” I turned to Aban. “Do you speak Greek?”
“Not much.”
I continued in Arabic, for his benefit. “Aban, this is Maria Yannatou. Her parents own the home.” They also provided two meals a day, cleaned, and did laundry for me and the other three renters.
“A pleasure to meet you, Aban ibn Musa,” Maria said. “Rasheed says he was born in Valencia. Is that where you’ve come from?”
Rather than warming to Maria, Aban grew stiff and looked at her shoulder instead of at her face as I translated.
“Yes.” He managed that much in Greek, but he was even more curt with her than he’d been with me.
Maria’s smile faltered.
I tried to smooth things over. “My brother has been traveling for almost three months. He needs to rest, but we’ll come to supper, along with my friend Sebastie.”
Maria clasped her hands together. “I’ve missed Sebastie. He tells the best stories now that he speaks Greek a little better. Is his family with him?”
“Not this time.” I gestured to the stairs rather than give Aban any sort of direction that might involve physical touch. In his eagerness to escape Maria, he followed my instruction with alacrity.
“A pity,” Maria said. “I would have liked to see Theodosius. And Martina. Have you any news of them?”
Aban was already halfway up the stairs. I let him continue while I finished my conversation. “Martina married a baker.”
Maria beamed. “She told me of her baker when she was last here. But things were very uncertain between them. I am glad they have found happiness. And her brother?”
“Theodosius serves with his stepfather. I will see you at supper, Maria.” I nodded my farewell and followed my brother. I didn’t mind Maria’s questions, not in moderation. But today I was desperate for quiet and a clear head. Aban didn’t like me, but he was here, and he was my brother, and I didn’t plan to send him away. I had to find a way to make things work.
Aban waited at the top of the steps. “Is she a harlot?”
Irritation and anger flared, but I pushed them down. “Absolutely not. She’s a respectable woman.”
“She seems rather forward.”
“She is friendly, that is all.”
“But she spoke with you and with me, and we are not family to her. Where was her father or a brother or an uncle?”
I pulled my hat from my head and strode to my rooms. “In Greece, a woman is allowed to speak to men in open courtyards, especially when one of the men is someone she has known since she was a child and when her mother is nearby in the kitchen. There’s nothing disreputable about it. They are also permitted to attend church or visit the market without male accompaniment, though they rarely go alone. And they are allowed to own bathhouses.” The last part was a stretch. The official documents for the bathhouse listed Gil and I as owners, but neither of us would forget Eudocia’s investment.
Aban frowned. “It seems improper.”
“Father thought a lot of things were improper. Many would disagree with him.” His religious fervor was at odds with other parts of the world, even at odds with the Al-Andalus of the past, when Muslims, Christians, and Jews had lived largely in harmony, more interested in philosophy and science and poetry than in punishment and strictness and rigid obedience. Our Almohad ancestors had come to Iberia from the Maghreb after the time of fabled Al-Andalus learning, and they hadn’t been as tolerant as those they’d found already living there.
“Father was a great man. Devoted to Allah.”
“Was he? I always thought he was devoted to persecuting anyone who wanted to follow God’s rules differently than he did.”
Aban’s eyes narrowed, and his lips turned down. Perhaps the fact that he had very few friends in Greece kept him from responding.
“Come, we can talk of something else.” I opened the door and led him into my anteroom, furnished simply with benches and cushions, a table, and a set of cupboards. A window provided light, and a doorway led to my bedchamber.
“I shouldn’t have come.” Aban folded his arms.
I bit my tongue rather than agree with him. “You’re here now. There’s no need to rush into a decision of what to do with your future.”
Aban looked around the room. “Which way is southeast?”
Late afternoon sun shone through the window. I’d grown up in the same home with the same father as he had, so I knew why he asked. “Mecca is that way.” I pointed. Then, as a peace offering, I went into my room and took the rug from the side of my bed and brought it out to him. Then I left him to his prayers.
In my bedchamber, I stood before the window and looked out at Thebes. I hadn’t belonged in Valencia, not since I’d accepted a kiss from a woman betrothed to another man. I was an outsider in Greece too, and sometimes I felt it keenly. Yet I’d made a home here, a comfortable life that included friendship, loyalty, and usefulness. At times, I was lonely, but more often, I was content. Aban had brought with him all the hurt of being rejected by my family, all for something that had seemed so innocent and natural in the moment.
Aban didn’t belong in my new life, not if he planned to hold on to the anger and hatred he felt for me. But he was my brother. We shared blood, almost shared a face. The hard man Sebastie had brought to the bathhouse wanted to push me away. I wanted to push back. But the bitter man currently kneeling in prayer was also the little boy I’d loved from the time he was born on a windy spring day. I’d heard his first cry, watched his first step. I couldn’t push that Aban away no matter how much he had changed. I had to give him a chance because he, too, had no place where he belonged, and I knew how that felt.
I peeked into the other room to see if he’d finished his prayers. He sat on the rug, staring straight ahead. I didn’t catch his attention. Maybe time would mellow some of his loathing, but for now, I wanted to avoid more contention.
Only later, when Maria’s voice drifted through the window as she called to my neighbor, also a bachelor, as he returned from his day of work, did I seek out my brother again.
I made my footsteps heavy, and he turned to me from his spot, still on the floor. “You are welcome to sit elsewhere whenever you wish.”
He nodded, his face still cold.
“And you are welcome to blame me for your problems as much as you like, but I cannot overlook rudeness to my friends. Kindness is something you will never regret giving.”
His lips turned down in an expression that made it clear he didn’t agree. “Kindness for infidels?”
“Kindness for God’s children—all of them. You are my brother, Aban, so I want to help you. If you cannot give me your respect or your gratitude, so be it, but perhaps you can at least water down your hatred.”
“Gratitude to you? Your sins ruined my life.” His voice was loud enough that my neighbors could probably hear, but I didn’t think any of the other residents understood Arabic.
I kept my temper in check but only with effort. No one had ever said turning the other check was easy, but I was determined to try when it came to my brother. I kept my voice quiet and, hopefully, not too sharp. “I did not make you lose your temper at the man you may have killed. I can provide a roof over your head and food to eat if you can but refrain from slapping my hand away when I try to help you. That’s why you came, isn’t it? Because you needed help and you heard I made money as a mercenary?”
Aban stood. He stared at me for a long moment, and then he nodded.
“Let’s go eat.”
He didn’t argue but followed me out into the open-air corridor. Some of the strain in my shoulders eased as I led him down the stairs to the hall for a meal with the others. I could have taken food for the both of us up to my rooms, but I wasn’t ready to be alone with Aban again.
His posture was as stiff as a spear shaft while we sat at the table for the bread and stew the Yannatos had prepared. Maria asked him more questions. I translated. Aban kept his answers short and his tone cool, but he was not outright rude, and I softened some of the harshness when I converted his words into Greek. Still, I was glad when Sebastie joined us. His presence seemed to ease the tension, and soon, everyone was enthralled by his version of how the Navarrese Company took the city of Durazzo for Louis of Evreux, then got stranded there when Louis died before paying us.
Later, when we went up to my rooms, I sat at the table with Sebastie and pulled out an amphora of wine. Aban had more prayers to perform, so I suggested he take the rug into the back room where he’d have privacy.
“Would you like to stay here tonight?” I asked Sebastie. I had only one extra bedroll, so having both Aban and Sebastie as guests would make everyone less comfortable, but it would avoid the awkwardness of being alone with Aban.
Sebastie shook his head. “Gillen and Eudocia already offered. They’ll stop on their way back from closing the bathhouse. I offered to help them, but Eudocia thought you might need reinforcements.”
“She’s perceptive, isn’t she?”
“Doesn’t take much insight to recognize that the reunion was less than joyous.”
“Was he so difficult when he traveled with you?” I whispered. Sebastie wouldn’t normally put up with the type of rudeness Aban had shown me, but perhaps he’d made an exception for my brother.
“No. Quiet, but he didn’t act like he hated me.”
“You didn’t ruin his family’s reputation and destroy his life.”
“You didn’t either. To come asking for help and then to act like that . . .” Sebastie poured the wine and shook his head. “He was nervous, I could tell that. And the worry grew the closer we got to Thebes.”
We lit a lantern and played zatrikion, and eventually, Aban finished his prayers. Sebastie won the first round of the game. I asked Aban if he would like to learn how to play, but he declined with a shake of his head. Nor did he want any wine, though that was expected. At least he stayed in the room with us and watched.
I yawned. The hour was late, and I’d drunk more wine than normal. The shock of seeing Aban again, plus the confrontation with the man who’d pestered Eudocia and the conversation with the Venetians, meant it had been a long day.
“Do you suppose Gil and Eudocia forgot about you?” I asked.
Sebastie raised an eyebrow. “Had my wife and I had a bathhouse all to ourselves, I don’t imagine we would have ever been in a hurry to get home. Not even for a beloved uncle.”
I chuckled, and we played another game. Aban again bowed out. He had more prayers to perform.
Finally, I heard footsteps across the courtyard, coming at a run.
“Maybe that’s them,” Sebastie said.
I nodded, but Gil didn’t usually run across dark courtyards. He didn’t see well enough to avoid things that might trip him. And Eudocia oughtn’t be running again so soon after losing a baby. If sitting made her wince, what would running do?
The footsteps slowed as they approached. I waited for a knock, but instead, Michali burst through the door without a pause. He hunched over, breathing hard. His dark curls were matted with sweat, and his face looked flushed and upset.
“There’s trouble, Rasheed. I was visiting a friend near the Neistai Gate. It was after nightfall, and the gate should have been closed, but I saw a group leaving. They must have bribed the guard to open the gate for them. Eudocia was among them, but something seemed wrong.”
“What?” Why would Eudocia leave the city at night? “Who was she with?”
Michali shook his head. “I only recognized her and one other—one of the Venetians who came to the bathhouse at midday. He wasn’t armed. Neither was Eudocia. But everyone else was. Eudocia saw me and rubbed her ear and waved me off. I went to the bathhouse first. Something happened there. Blood everywhere. And four bodies. I ran all the way here after that.”
“What about Gil?” I asked.
Michali swallowed, and his eyes watered. “Gil is one of the bodies.”